like him to unbelt for a chunk unless he _knows_
something."

Johnson chuckled.

"Most of his betting is done in books where I've got an interest.
D'you think they'd be laying top prices on Elijah if they didn't know
something too?"

"I guess that's right, Smiley. You didn't warm this one up to-day.
Why?"

"It would make him too nervous: the crowd, and all."

"He's fit, is he?"

"Fitter than a snake! We're getting 8 and 10 to 1 in the pool rooms
all over the Coast, and I wish we'd gone even stronger with him. Here
comes Curry now. Listen to me kid him!"

The old man entered the paddock from the betting ring, bound for
Elijah's stall. Johnson halted him with a shout. "Well, old
Stick-in-the-mud! You trying to-day?"

"I'm always tryin'," answered Curry mildly. "My hosses are always
tryin' too."

"Wish you a lot of luck!"

"Same to you, sir; same to you."

"But everybody can't win."

"True as gospel. I found that out right here at this track."

Old Man Curry continued on his way as calm and untroubled as if his
pockets were not loaded down with pasteboards calling for a small
fortune in the event of Elijah's winning the race. His instructions
to Little Mose were brief:

"Get away in front and stay there."

A few moments later Johnson and McManus leaned over the top rail of
the fence and watched the horses on their way to the post.

"That colt of yours looks a little stiff to me," said McManus
critically.

"Nonsense! He may be a bit nervous, but he ain't stiff."

"Well, I _hope_ he ain't. Curry's horse looks good."

Later they levelled their field glasses at the starting point.
Johnson could see nothing but his own colours: a blazing cherry
jacket and cap; McManus spent his time watching Little Mose and
Elijah.

"Smiley, that nigger is playing for a running start."

"Let him have it. Zanzibar'll be in front in ten jumps. Hennessey
knows just how to handle the colt, and he's chain lightning on the
break."

"I suppose the boy on Blitzen'll take care of the nigger if he has
to. Slats gave him orders. _They're off!_"

Johnson opened his mouth to say something, but the words died away
into a choking gurgle. Instead of rushing to the front, the cherry
jacket was rapidly dropping back. It was McManus who broke the
stunned silence.

"In front in ten jumps, hey? He's _last_ in ten jumps, that's what he
is: stiffer'n a board! And look where Curry's nigger is, will you?"

"To hell with Curry's nigg